


Unfinished Business

by AJWmagickl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ghost Glenn AU, M/M, Rating May Change, but also Glenn & Maggie because they're amazing, references to 7x01, tags/characters will be added, this is a Desus fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-03 20:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10257128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJWmagickl/pseuds/AJWmagickl
Summary: It takes time for him to wake from the darkness, and of course it's Maggie's voice that pulls him from the deep abiding slumber of death.How long has he been away?His eyes open onto a blurry world, brown earth muddling with blue sky, but within a moment he can see the silhouette of her face. She sits on a flat patch of dirt, crying, chanting his name in a low whisper of longing.And he's sitting on his grave.





	1. Glenn

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Daryl/Jesus fic, and a slow burn. But Glenn & Maggie have their own story as well, because i love them & I'm just not ready to completely let them go. So naturally, Glenn returns as a ghost. 
> 
> My tumblr is @AJWMagickl, come say hi! :)

He remembered getting killed, but he didn't remember dying. There was no floating above his body, no tunnel, no angels, no white light, no departed relatives waiting to take his hand. There were only his words, and then darkness. 

Every image from that night in the clearing with his family burned in his memory. The kneeling. The long-winded speech of a madman. The terror. The crack of Negan's bat on Abraham's skull. And then on his own. 

The unbearable pain was brief, before numbness set in as his body shut down. He smelled blood. Through a red haze, he saw the trauma fall over his family like the sharp blade of an axe, cutting everything that had been from everything they had hoped would come in one series of unexpected blows. 

His eyes took everything in like a snapshot, milliseconds frozen in time. 

Rick, fragile and lost, consumed by the failure of his confidence to keep them safe. 

Daryl, held fast against the hard ground by two saviors, blues eyes dark and framed in shock, flinching with every swing of the bat against bone. 

Carl's stoic expression, watching without blinking, making himself hold the moment. For future reference, knowing Carl. 

And Maggie. Sweet Maggie. She was sick, feverish, holding her arm across her abdomen, watching without looking away as he was murdered right in front of her. God she was strong. Strong for him, in that moment, just like she'd always been. Strong in herself, determined to meet the horrors of the world head on if only to fight for those she loved. 

She would defend every last one of them with her life, but she couldn't save him. He knew, and she knew. Black fog grew on the edges of his vision as their eyes remained locked, each blow separating them by an eternity and yet sealing them together forever. 

The words fought their way up from his gut by the sheer power of his will, everything he needed to say surging through his throat and he prayed, he _prayed_ he had enough left in him to speak. 

"Maggie. I'll find you."

***

It takes time for him to wake from the darkness, and of course it's her voice that pulls him from the deep abiding slumber of death. 

How long has he been away? 

His eyes open onto a blurry world, brown earth muddling with blue sky, but within a moment he can see the silhouette of her face. She sits on a flat patch of dirt, crying, chanting his name in a low whisper of longing. 

And he's sitting on his grave. 

At least he supposes that's where he is, although as his vision begins to clear he recognizes the tall wooden logs that make up The Hilltop's outer walls. The ground beneath him is turned but dry, a wilting sprig of young viburnum flowers rests against a simple broken picket that serves as a marker. 

He doesn't take long to look, just enough to get his bearings, before turning back to watch Maggie's face emerge into clear, crisp lines as his eyesight returns completely. 

She's thin, her cheeks hollow, her eyes swollen and pink. She's cut her hair. Yeah, he remembers that now. He never got to tell her how much he likes it. 

Grief shakes her shoulders but he can already tell that it doesn't own her. It never will. She's his wife, beautiful and strong in her sorrow. He never wants to look at anything else again.


	2. Jesus and the No Good, Very Fucked Up Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place right after the Saviors' visit to the Hilltop to retrieve Dr. Carson (episode 7X14), so heads up for spoilers if you haven't watched, but I changed the timeline for Jesus' meeting with Gregory to take place in the early early morning. Also, this fic is unbeta'd so sorry for the mistakes. I'll fix them as I find them.

Jesus strides along the fence at Hilltop, making his second round of the inner perimeter although the bleary sun is just rising through thin, gray clouds. 

Meetings with Gregory always leave him frustrated, especially early morning meetings spent listening to the leader drone on and on about and everything that doesn’t matter, while refusing to even broach the subject of the impending war with Negan. 

Nothing Jesus can do or say will ever sway the leader’s opinion, and the scout leaves each meeting with nothing but a headache, a knot in his gut, and a list of mundane things to handle.

This morning’s meeting had been different. 

_“You shouldn’t talk to me like that. Who knows what might happen with all of these Saviors coming around.”_

The threat was clearly spoken and aimed directly at Jesus, regardless of how Gregory immediately tried to smooth it over. The old man’s words loop in the scout’s mind, his breath is shallow and his hands are clenched, but he isn’t scared for himself in the slightest. By severing their already precarious relationship, Gregory has become nothing but a liability and now Jesus has to deal with that. He’s fucking furious.

He walks and fumes, face red and eyes sharp, wishing it were an hour earlier and still dark so he could justify cracking open that bottle of whiskey that Daryl snatched from the bounty of the last run before it could be inventoried. 

After a third round of the fence, his thoughts begin to cool and turn toward the day ahead. There’s training to do with the twenty or so Hilltop residents that want to join the fight. Talking with the other residents that might be persuaded. And Jesus had agreed, when Rick asked, to locate the remainder of Negan’s outposts. 

If Gregory is sitting in his office downing shots of scotch and plotting his own agenda, fine. Jesus will gladly let him get himself killed. What he won’t do is let Gregory get the rest of them killed, least of all the Alexandrians who were currently taking refuge at Hilltop.

It’s time to find Maggie.

He’d avoided the graves on his walk, knowing that Maggie would be there. She spends a few minutes at Glenn’s gravesite each morning and evening, and Jesus wonders if that’s a routine held over from before Glenn died. He imagines early mornings snuggling in bed, making plans for the day over the breakfast table. Coming together again after a hard day on a run or in the garden, with quiet whispers of grief or gentle smiles and touches as they talked about the future, about their child. 

It’s what couples do, after all, they come home to each other. Until they don’t.

With the sun peeking over the walls, its late enough now that he heads toward Barrington House, expecting to find Maggie in the pantry trying to sweet-talk Marilyn into giving her a fresh apple or two. But she must have spent a little extra time at the grave today, because she’s just approaching the house from across the expanse of lawn, her back to Jesus. 

And she’s not alone.

Jesus slows, narrowing his eyes to get a better look at the man that trails several feet behind Maggie. There’s something familiar about his dark hair and thin build but without seeing his face, the scout just can’t place him. He’s pretty sure this guy isn’t from Hilltop.

He wonders at the way the man is walking; tentatively, alternately shuffling and lifting his feet a bit too high off the ground, as if he were picking his way through land mines instead of walking on flat earth. It would be comical if it weren’t so downright odd. 

After a short moment of watching, Jesus becomes aware of a silvery sheen that surrounds the man like an aura. It’s faint, ethereal, and…familiar.

Realization strikes him at the same time that Maggie glances over her shoulder and waves. She looks past the man behind her, no, _through_ him, and tightness grips Jesus’ stomach, his breath escaping as if he’d just been punched. 

_No. Shitfuck. Not again._

Maggie turns completely, stopping to wait for him to catch up, and now Glenn turns too.

Glenn’s appearance is much the same as he and Jesus first met that night in Alexandria, whole and uninjured, with one quite major exception; his left eye dangles from its socket, grotesque and bloody, suspended by thin pink threads of tissue. The eyeball lays unmoving against the top of his cheek. 

Jesus doesn’t mean to do it, but the shock of everything is just too much. “Jesus Fucking Christ!” he yells, as his eyes go wide and his jaw slackens involuntarily. Hand against his chest, he leans forward slightly and tries to catch his fleeing breath.

Concern grows on Maggie’s face as she looks between Jesus and the spot three feet in front of her where the scout’s eyes are fixed. Glenn is staring back with a widening eye, slowly getting the gist that Jesus can actually see him.

“Jesus!”, Maggie calls out as the scout turns on his heels and makes for his trailer.

“I’m fine!” His voice is breathy and a good octave above normal as he waves her off with the back of his hand, not bothering to turn around. “Just remembered something I need to do!” He’s so shaky that even his inner monologue is stammering, as he prays silently to a god he doesn’t believe in that Maggie will just let him go.

The trailer door slams behind him as he beelines for the whiskey. Daryl had slipped it into a cabinet in the small kitchen area, away from the greedy eyes of visitors, and now Jesus grabs it, unscrews the lid and tilts his head back, drawing a long pull of the amber liquid. He moves the bottle away from his mouth for one breath, then takes another drink and slams the bottle on the counter and slumps forward.

“What the fuck, man?”, a voice growls from the area of the couch.

_Shit. Shit shit shit shit._

Jesus slowly raises his head to see Daryl set down the crossbow he’d apparently been cleaning and walk toward him. He raises his hand to stop the hunter from coming too close, but of course that doesn’t work. Daryl walks right into his space and grabs the bottle.

The scout won’t meet his eyes, but bows his head, his hands bracing him on the counter. Daryl’s voice softens instantly.

“What the fuck?”, he repeats, leaning sideways to try to see Jesus’ face. “You’re shaking, man.” His hand rests tentatively on Jesus’ forearm, and the scout has no energy to push him away, he’s using it all to keep his head from spinning around on his shoulders and possibly from bursting into tears.

Maggie barges through the door about two seconds later, her face etched with worry. She looks at Daryl, who shrugs, and they both turn back to look at the man who is practically sprawled on the counter at this point. 

“Jesus, what happened? What’s wrong?” Maggie steps closer.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” He knows it’s a completely unconvincing statement, but he’s unwilling to admit to anything else other than being _absolutely fine_.

Maggie moves closer, exchanging short, questioning glances with Daryl. “What happened just now?” Her voice is soft, lacking in any judgment whatsoever.

Jesus raises his eyes to the ceiling, drawing the first full breath he’s had in a few minutes, then looks at his friends. “I’m fine. Really, it was…it was nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing!”, exclaims Maggie. “That…”, she points in the direction of Barrington House, “was something.”

“No, no, it was nothing.” Jesus’ voice is taking on a tone of desperation. He knows his friends aren’t going to let this slide without an explanation. “Look. I know what you think, I know I was upset, but I just need…I just need to say nothing happened, okay? This thing, whatever it was, I need to believe it didn’t happen. So can we just leave it?”

Maggie’s arms are crossed now, and Daryl looks more confused by the second. Jesus knows the hunter will get the story from Maggie later, but for now, he just wants them to go away.

“Please. Forget it?” Jesus knows he’s pleading. “I’m fine, and nothing happened. It was probably some kind of heat stroke or something.”

“It’s fifty degrees outside, man.”, Daryl snarks.

“Fine then, maybe it’s just a fucking _stroke_ then, asshole!”, Jesus shouts in a sudden fury, finally making eye contact with a harsh glare. “But whatever, I’m fine now, so just leave it, okay?”

Daryl’s brows shoot up and he takes an involuntary step backward at the force of Jesus’ rage.

A wave of frustration morphs Maggie’s features from worry to resignation. “Okay.” She steps backward, toward the trailer door. “Okay, have it your way. But if you need something…”

“I’ll find you. Or I’ll talk to Daryl.” Jesus nods slightly. He’s still slightly out of breath. “I promise.”

Maggie returns the nod and opens the door. A figure stands just outside on the stoop, Jesus catches only a glimpse of black hair and silver aura before he turns his head and closes his eyes tightly. When he opens them, Daryl has moved away as well but his eyes are still trained on Jesus.

“I gotta go grab the maps from the house, so we can go over them later,” the hunter pulls his vest over his shoulders, “Maybe find some more places to look for outposts.”

Jesus runs a hand through his hair. “Sure. We can do that.”

“You gonna be okay, ya know, by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine.” 

When Daryl gives him a suspicious side eye, Jesus manages a small smile. His breathing has evened out somewhat. He grabs the whiskey that the hunter had moved away from him and tucks it back into the cabinet, closing the door with an exaggerated movement.

“See? I’ll be fine. Really.”

Daryl shrugs. “Whatever.” But he glances back before he steps out the door and Jesus can see a thousand questions ticking in his mind. 

“Shoo!”, smirks Jesus, with a completely ridiculous attempt at a smile that comes off more like a crazed grimace. Daryl shakes his head in disbelief.

As soon as the clomp of the hunter’s boots fades from the trailer steps, Jesus collapses against the wall behind him and slides to the floor, rubbing his eyes furiously with his hands. He raises his head and beats it lightly against the wall behind him while he processes the new turn of events. 

_Glenn is dead. And Glenn is here_. 

And Jesus can see him, which is not an unfamiliar experience in the least, because he’s been able to see the dead since he was too young to remember. 

His mother said it was a gift, but the only gift Jesus has ever seen in it is that it hasn’t happened since the Turn. He considered that to be a great mercy on the part of the universe because it suddenly stopped when the dead started walking, like turning off a tap. He can’t imagine why, maybe it has something to do with the virus they all carry, but he hasn’t questioned it much. He’s just grateful, because he can’t imagine surviving while being able to see spirits while he’s stabbing their corpses in the head. 

But if his _sight_ is back, if it’s starting again, in this world and on the eve of a war and probably great losses of life…

He’s so immersed in his thoughts that he’s surprised when he chokes back a sob. Leaning forward, he opens the cabinet to retrieve the whiskey, because he’s suddenly too exhausted to move, and the most he can manage at the moment is to think about how dramatically more fucked his life just got, and he’s not doing that without alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry about the eye thing. 
> 
> I'm @AJWMagickl on Tumblr, come say hi!


	3. Decisions

By the time Daryl returns, Jesus is three sheets to the wind and splayed face down on the couch, wide awake but still drooling into his pillow.

“Man…”, says Daryl, dropping an armload of rolled up and folded maps on the round dining table in the center of the trailer. 

“Heeeeeeyyyyy…Daaaryl!”, drawls Jesus, attempting to wave an uncoordinated arm in the hunter’s general direction.

Daryl drops to his knees by the couch, surveying the damage that is Paul Rovia, wishing he’d followed his instinct to take the bottle of whiskey with him when he’d left earlier to collect the maps. He’d spoken with Maggie and although he now had an idea of the events leading up to…whatever this was, neither of them knew a damn thing about what could make the always composed, level-headed scout lose his shit like this, or why he would refuse to talk about it.

_“Do you think he’s mentally stable?”, Daryl had asked Maggie, when he tracked her down at Barrington House after leaving the trailer._

_“I’ve never seen anything that would tell me he’s not”, Maggie had replied. “Maybe he had some kind of PTSD flashback or something? We all respond to stress differently.”_

_“Still seems a little over the top, for him.” The hunter was biting his thumb in worry. “Maybe it’s the thing with Sasha leaving. He tried to stop her, or at least get her tell you what she and Rosita were planning.”_

_Maggie piled the last of the maps into his arms. “Maybe. But it seemed sudden. It won’t hurt to keep an eye on him.”_

_“There’s too much about to happen. We need him, and we need him clear-headed.”, Daryl mumbled._

_“He needs us too.”_

Daryl was never one to turn down Maggie’s requests, especially now, not after she’d forgiven him for Glenn’s death. The fact that he will never forgive himself is an entirely different matter, but she’d asked him to help her win, and he’d agreed. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep his promise. And if that means sticking to Jesus like burnt cheese to a frying pan, he’ll do it.

Daryl stirs a generous amount of instant coffee into a mug of lukewarm water as Jesus mumbles intermittent, incoherent sentences from the other side of the trailer, and he realizes that looking after the scout might require more diligence than he’d thought. 

Kneeling again by the couch, he elicits a drunken groan as he pushes the younger man, maneuvering him onto his back. Jesus’ upper half finally makes it into position, but his legs are tangling together, and his hair looks an awful lot like those pictures of Albert Einstein Daryl remembers from school.   
“Drink up, asshole.”, Daryl growls, holding out the mug and two aspirin as Jesus continues to fight with the lower half of his body until he’s straightened out and propped up a bit.

“I’m sorry.”, the scout says, then laughs like he just told the best joke in the world. He takes the aspirin and a good gulp of the coffee, making a terrible face at the strength of it, when the last hint of smile leaves his face and he’s staring ahead, red eyes glassy and half-closed, lost in some kind of memory.

Daryl punches his arm, lightly but not too lightly. “C’mon man, you’re drunker than shit and we have a mission. What the fuck are you thinkin’?”

The mention of the mission lurches Jesus out of his momentary trance. “Oh fuck! The mission. Wait, we have a mission? And Sasha and Rosita. Fuck!” He reaches a hand up to rub furiously at his eyes and when he removes them, he looks truly horrified at his behavior. A second later, his expression is quizzical. “What’s the mission?”

Daryl fills him in. About an hour before, Rick had sent word that they’d found guns… _lots_ of guns, and they were going to retrieve them. He’d asked for help from Hilltop in case of a fight.

“Just drink the coffee. I’ll get you somethin’ to eat.”, replies Daryl with a huff, patting the scout’s shoulder. “You can sleep this shit off on the way to Oceanside, but when we get there…”

“Yeah.”, says Jesus quietly. “I’ll be sober and ready to fight.” He drains the mug and Daryl takes it, returning with another mug of sludge and some granola bars.

“Eat something, or that booze plus the coffee is gonna fuck up your stomach. We can’t have you throwing up all over the car.”

“I’d deserve it if I got sick.”, Jesus moans remorsefully. Then he looks at Daryl, his eyes slightly more focused than before. “But you wouldn’t deserve it, so…” He takes a granola bar and after a moment of fumbling hopelessly with the wrapper, Daryl pulls it away and opens it for him.

“Thanks.” He takes two bites and throws up on Daryl’s shirt.

***

It’s three days before Jesus returns to Hilltop, without Daryl, but with news of a successful raid at Oceanside, a possible Savior ally named Dwight, and an impending attack on Alexandria by Negan.

Jesus’ first glimpse of Glenn had caught him off guard, but he’s had these three days to be reminded that much more important things were at hand. He was glad for the drive back to Hilltop alone, even though he hated leaving Daryl behind in the thick of the war zone. 

But he needed those few hours to steady himself for the possibility of seeing Glenn again, of seeing Glenn a lot, and maybe seeing other spirits as well. What he knew without a doubt was that he didn’t have the luxury of letting anything distract him from the war. His plan was simple…he would ignore Glenn, and any other Truly Dead that he came across, and focus on the fight in front of him. 

The dead would have to wait.  
Maggie runs from Barrington House as soon as Jesus pulls the car through the gate, and Glenn is running by her side. He’s moving better now, and Jesus has seen this before…it takes the newly deceased a little time to acclimate to the real world when they come back in spirit form. Simple things like grass and walls and floors can seem like real obstacles to those who aren’t sure how their bodies (or lack thereof) will behave.

Approaching him breathlessly, Maggie looks him up and down and decides he’s not hurt before launching into questions about what happened at Oceanside and what’s next.

“Wait.” Jesus holds up a hand and opens the back door, pointedly avoiding looking at Glenn. 

Judith, who is apparently the best baby in the world, slept from the moment he left Alexandria. He wakes her gently, tapping her hand until she opens her eyes and smiles at him. He fumbles with the straps on her car seat and lifts her out.

“Rick wanted her here,” he says to Maggie’s incredulous expression, “We got word. Negan’s going to attack Alexandria.” 

Shortly after, they’re in Gregory’s old office and yes, it’s his old office now that he’s disappeared. Jesus doesn’t know where he went, not for certain, but as soon as Maggie told him the old man had gone, along with most of his belongings, a car, and Kal, Jesus had his best guess. And if he was right, if Gregory was heading to the sanctuary to rat them out, then he was already dead. One way or another.

Maggie’s contemplating their options. She’s already stepped into leadership, hell, she was already there before Gregory even left. And Rick said to stay, to leave the fight to Alexandria, to keep Hilltop’s involvement in the impending war a secret for now.

But Maggie’s unsure, and so is Jesus, and so is Enid, who has joined them. Only Judith seems to be okay with whatever decision they make, because her job is to play with her toys and stay safe and keep learning to walk. Their job is to win a war, and Jesus wishes for a moment that their decisions carried no more weight than Judith’s.

He’s still not looking at Glenn, who has been wandering about the room a bit as the others discuss Gregory and Negan and the impending battle. Every now and then Glenn stops close to Jesus and leans in a bit, as if trying to catch his eye, to figure out if Jesus can actually see him. He even waves a hand in front of Jesus’ face at one point, and it takes everything the scout has to focus on Maggie and not bat it away in frustration.

Glenn doesn’t try to speak to him, though, and Jesus is grateful that he isn’t testing his hearing yet. He’s actually not even sure if Glenn can talk, sometimes spirits can’t. It’s tricky when they do, and sometimes hard to hide having a conversation with someone that no one else can see.

Maggie is at the decision point. Either Hilltop goes and fights with Alexandria in the battle, or they do as Rick asked and stay behind while their friends face Negan and his Saviors. Enid has pressed Glenn’s pocket watch into her hand before taking Judith for her nap, and she stares at it now, her eyes heavy with the weight of responsibility.

“How do I make this decision?”, she asks.

Jesus doesn’t respond.

Glenn steps up next to her, catching the scout’s eye for a split second and _dammit_ , Jesus wasn’t prepared for that. But he doesn’t have to acknowledge anything further, because Glenn leans in close to Maggie.

Jesus can tell that he’s afraid to touch her, not knowing if she can feel him or not, reluctant to distract her from this decision. Glenn’s hand hovers lightly above the watch in her palm and he speaks softly into her ear. 

“You already know what to do, Maggie.” His voice is tender, earnest. “We have to finish what we started.”

Maggie smiles lightly, fondly, gazing at the watch, and that’s the moment…the moment when Jesus knows, when he can see clearly the love that Maggie and Glenn had together. It surrounds the couple like a blanket made of stars and galaxies and things eternal, completely unreal and yet more real than anything else in the room. 

And somehow, through whatever ethereal boundary that keeps Maggie from seeing or hearing her dead husband, his words got through.

She snaps her head up, resolved. “We’re going. Gather everyone, get the supplies and the weapons. We’re leaving as soon as possible.”

Jesus nods. He’s not feeling resigned to fate. Instead, a sense of relief washes across his chest and shoulders. It’s better to fight than to hide. It’s better to die helping their friends, if that’s what they have to do.

It’s the right decision. So on his way out, he chances a quick glance at Glenn and nods an acknowledgment. The expression of relief in Glenn’s eyes almost outshines the fire in Maggie’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have a lot to figure out on this story, y'all, so please bear with me. I'll try to update more often. Thanks for hanging in there!


End file.
